


Sanctuary

by wraith816



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Incest, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-29
Updated: 2006-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:26:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraith816/pseuds/wraith816
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from 1x21 Salvation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

"Nobody's dying tonight. Not us, not that family. Nobody. Except that demon. That evil sonuvabitch isn't gettin' any older than tonight, you understand me?"

Sam wants to believe it all, to believe Dean like he's twelve again and everything Dean says is gospel. But age and experience have taught him otherwise, no matter how much he wishes he still had that freedom. And even if he did, there's this feeling, a something, a coming disaster that lives in the thrum of his blood, in the air filling his lungs, and yet, he can't quite put it into words. Sam needs Dean to listen to him, to this _just in case_ , to know it all, because he's sure, with a painful clarity like that of a vision, that this _something_ means Dean, for all his brave words, is wrong about tonight.

So Sam tries again, pleads softly, "Dean," but he gets no response. "Dean, listen..." Silence still meets him; Dean's eyes still don't. Sam turns to look straight ahead, at the rows of little houses lining the quiet street. He'd sigh if he weren't sure that Dean would call him overdramatic.

When Dean finally speaks a long moment later, his voice is low and rough with doubt that Sam knows Dean would never admit. "Dude, you'd tell me if you’d had another vision, right? Something more than just the demon comin' here? You'd tell me if you knew something bad was gonna go down."

"It’s not a vision..." Sam shakes his head. “It's just...it's...I don't know.”

"If it's not that, then don't give me this crap, okay? I'm not listenin' to it. We'll do what we've gotta do and everyone's gonna be okay and that's it, got it?"

Sam prides himself on knowing Dean, inside and out. Knowing him as brother, as friend, as lover. When they're here, like this, it seems as if his whole life is built around Dean, like Stanford is a misremembered dream. Dean is his alpha and omega, and Sam would happily spend a lifetime learning everything Dean is. And if there's one thing Dean is to his very core, it's action, and Sam knows that now, only action will get through.

He leans towards Dean, cups the back of Dean's neck with his hand. "Sam, not now," Dean warns, but he doesn't pull away as Sam moves closer. He wants this. Sam's chapped lips brush Dean's: light, a tease. But Dean doesn't want tease, apparently, or so the way he opens his mouth for Sam, the way he presses in hot against Sam's body, seem to say. They shouldn't be doing this here, Sam knows. They should be watching the house, but now, with _might be_ hanging over their heads like a sword, it's inevitable. Dean can't deny Sam anything, and Sam would never deny Dean this. He moves his hand to tighten his fingers in Dean's short hair, slips his tongue into Dean's warm mouth. Dean still tastes fresh, like black coffee and gun oil and something sweetly familiar, like family. And this thing between them is still new enough that words like _incest_ and _wrong_ rattle around in Sam's head, but he figures that they’ve seen enough of the bad shit that whatever good there is out there can't begrudge them this. So Sam clamps down on all that, lets go; he uses his kiss to tell Dean all those _just in case_ things that Dean refuses to hear: affection, respect, thanks, maybe even love.

Dean's the one to end it, of course, always mind on the job when it counts, though Sam doesn't think he imagines the slow reluctance in the way Dean's teeth gently catch his bottom lip 'til the very last second. Without a word, Dean clears his throat and turns his attention back to the house that awaits the Winchesters' own brand of Hell. Sam does the same, and his blood still sings disaster.


End file.
